Poems by Pavol Janik
It Is Snowing
Ice angels are falling from the sky.
In their mouths are snowy fountains.
The imagined curves of snowdrifts are mature.
I’m just watching, hands are not moving.
The cold breath of the frozen flute
is waking me up.
Chatter Above The Grave
Clumsy are hitting lamps
like night moths.
Matured drunks are falling down.
In the amusement park, wierd generals
in a little green skirt are making grimaces.
In the middle of a metropolis, the forest burns.
In the shell of whispering lips
you swim in a part of the story.
My heart is beating the rest.
Translated Into English by Smiljana Piksiades